Chapter one~ The day I cursed the villainess
If surviving adulthood had a soundtrack, mine would be the sound of a dying photocopier.
“Seraphina, we need the new script edits before lunch!”
“Seraphina, the intern messed up the schedule again!”
“Seraphina, the director wants soy milk, not almond!”
Three different voices. One poor me.
By noon, I was balancing a coffee cup, a clipboard, and my remaining will to live as I dashed through the corridors of Starline Media Productions the tiny TV company that paid me just enough to afford instant noodles and emotional damage.
My boss, Mr. Craigson, a man who wore designer suits like armor and smiled only when canceling vacations, leaned out of his glass office. “Seraphina,” he called sweetly. “Could you stay back after closing? We have a few… creative adjustments.”
Translation: Work overtime. Again.
“Sure,” I said with the enthusiasm of a wet towel.
He gave me a thumbs-up and disappeared back into his cave of misery.
By the time the office lights dimmed and everyone else had gone home, I was still hunched over my laptop, editing footage for a reality show called Celebrity House Arrest.
Don’t ask. The title was more glamorous than the budget.
The screen flickered. I groaned and shoved another spoonful of cold noodles into my mouth. “You know,” I said to no one, “if karma’s real, I must’ve been a mosquito in my past life.”
It was then that my eye caught a familiar name on the side tab of my browser — The Cold Billionaire’s Wife: Episode 17.
My guilty pleasure. My stress relief. My bedtime story and my emotional support drama.
I clicked play.
On-screen, the infamous villainess, Lady Celeste Laurent, lounged on a velvet chair, wearing pearls, silk, and an expression that said she’d slap a nun for breathing too loudly.
Across from her sat her husband — Lucien Vale — silent, cold, devastatingly handsome, and unable to speak since childhood trauma.
A man of mystery, perfection, and painful stillness.
“Madam, the Master’s tea is ready,” a servant announced.
Celeste smiled. “Good,” she purred, “let’s make it memorable.”
And right there, she slipped poison into his cup. Again.
I threw my spoon down. “Seriously? What is wrong with you, woman?”
I could feel the rant coming. “He’s mute, he’s nice, he literally saved your family’s business, and you’re poisoning him? This is why you’re the villainess! You’re lucky you’re fictional, Celeste, or I’d—”
The lights flickered once. Twice.
Then everything went black.
“Okay,” I whispered. “That’s creepy.”
My laptop screen glowed faintly showing the exact frame of Lucien Vale looking up at his wife with quiet sorrow. The kind of look that made your chest hurt. The kind of look that begged to be rewritten.
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “If I were her, I’d do better. I’d fix it. I’d make him smile again. Anything’s better than being that monster.”
And right then, as if the universe had been waiting for my stupidity, my reflection in the dark laptop screen smirked back.
“What—”
A rush of wind exploded in the room, swirling papers into a cyclone. The monitor flashed white, and suddenly the floor disappeared. My body lifted, weightless.
“No, no, no, I take it back!” I screamed. “Universe, I don’t even know how to drive in London! Don’t you dare—”
The words vanished with me.
Silence. Light. Then..
Thud.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in the editing room anymore.
I was lying on a bed big enough to host a wedding, with silk sheets and a canopy that looked stolen from a museum. The air smelled of lavender and polished wood. A chandelier glittered above me like frozen stars.
I sat up slowly, blinking.
My instant noodles were gone. My hoodie was gone.
And in their place, I wore a lace nightgown that screamed rich people problems.
“What the…” I whispered. My voice sounded softer, smoother ...different.
A knock came at the door.
A young maid peeked in, her expression pale as milk. “Madam, the Master is waiting in the study.”
“Master?” I croaked.
“Yes, Madam Laurent.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry, did you just say Laurent?”
The maid’s eyes widened in terror. “Are you unwell, Madam?”
Unwell?
Try universe-swapped-into-fictional-villainess-with-zero-survival-plan.
I stumbled toward the mirror, heart pounding. And froze.
The reflection wasn’t mine.
The woman staring back had flowing blonde curls, flawless skin, lips tinted like wine, and eyes that could freeze empires.
Lady Celeste Laurent.
“Oh, no,” I breathed. “Oh no no no no. This is not happening. I did not transmigrate into that psychotic tea-poisoning Barbie!”
“Madam?” the maid squeaked.
I plastered on a weak smile. “Um. New day, new me?”
She blinked rapidly, uncertain. “Shall I bring the tea?”
Tea.
Poison.
Lucien Vale.
I swallowed hard. “Actually,” I said, forcing a bright tone, “I think I’ll… handle the tea myself.”
Before she could argue, I grabbed the silver tray and marched out the door barefoot, panicking, and internally screaming.
Because if this really was the world of The Cold Billionaire’s Wife, then I was standing in the villainess’s shoes.
And the first thing Celeste Laurent did in Chapter One… was kill her husband.
Not on my watch.
